Duma Took the Wrong Son
by The Erudite
Summary: A rightful heir is born, but he disappears from the world. Into that void steps a cousin, rather than the heir the emperor desired. Is it any wonder that the illegitimate heir desires to prove himself? What kind of mad compulsion drives a man to act as Prince Berkut of Rigel did?


"It's no trouble at all. You needn't think of me as anything more than a benefactor of yours," the older man said, reposing into his chair and smiling down at the blond man before him.

"You're an honorable man, Your Excellency, but I hope you won't mind if I say that I'd like to continue serving you however possible," the blond replied, the tassels of his epaulettes shaking as he bowed his head a bit.

"Continue serving me?" The emperor blinked twice. "How do you mean? You've contributed plenty to me and my family. That's more than enough."

"Frankly, Your Excellency, I have come to respect and envision your goals for the world as my own." He hesitated a bit and went on, "With that said, I wonder if you'd consider allowing me to enlist. I want to do what I can to continue protecting all of Rigel. I find much that is precious to me here."

The emperor let a laughing grunt out of his nose. He looked back up to the blond and slowly nodded. "You're quite the perplexing little enigma, Ezekiel. It wasn't enough for you to come into my home with no past, but now, here you are, defying my expectations for the future."

"I meant no offense, my lord, only—"

"I jest. You've more than proven your loyalty to Rigel, and to my family in particular. I would be honored to count you among my ranks. You should understand, however, that this is a lifelong commitment you'd be making, and it's therefore an oath you shouldn't take lightly."

"I assure you, I make this decision fully aware of the gravity which it holds."

"Very well then. It's a bit late in the day for conferring military ranks, but I'll have a word with one of my generals tomorrow morning and we'll see if we can find a suitable place for you."

"Thank you, Emperor Rudolf," Ezekiel said, the curve of his lips turning up just slightly and his eyes widening only half an inch, "I won't forget this honor you've bestowed upon me, and I vow to validate your decision."

"Yes, yes," said the emperor, waving his hand, "Now, if you're going to be fighting in my service, there's something of great importance I need to relay to you. Step closer, boy: this is something to be kept from wandering ears, you understand?"

"Of course, Your Excellency." The newest member of Rigel's army walked toward the throne, bending his ear to the emperor.

Outside the door, Massena was stationed with his back hovering just inches away from the heavy wooden frame. He could make out faint impressions of the emperor's conversation with the strange man in foreign dress. That was why he was usually the _only_ one allowed to be stationed before the emperor's door: Rudolf knew well the danger of gossip, even if it wasn't much practiced in Rigel. That was, in part, because the emperor knew so well how to cull it, after all. So Massena drew in a deep breath and let it out in a prolonged sigh and readjusted his hands, folded together in front of his waist. He paused to listen a bit more and realized that he could only barely discern their voices at that point, meaning the emperor was explaining something private. Massena turned his ear away and stroked his beard thoughtfully.

He had to stop when he heard boots making their way up the hall to meet him. He had a feeling he knew who it was, and so he continued stroking his chin idly to mentally prepare himself as the figure grew closer and closer. When it was clear it would be seen as rude if he didn't acknowledge the presence before him, Massena lowered his hand and put on a polite smile. "Prince Berkut," he greeted, "How can I be of service to you?"

"You can move out of the way, if you don't mind," replied the coal-haired prince. The onyx crown that wrapped around his head gave the prince a curious look: the ends spiked out on either side of his head, making him resemble a bull, or perhaps a devil. His face was still that of a boy, however, and was strangely disjointed with this wicked accoutrement. "I wish to speak with my uncle."

"I'm sorry, my prince," Massena answered him, "but your uncle is in the middle of a private conversation with young Master Ezekiel."

Berkut's brow shifted down as soon as he heard the name. "That gold-haired dandy again? What does my uncle find so fascinating about that nameless foreign filth?"

"Filth, Lord Berkut?" Massena cocked his eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," replied the prince, "I see the way he struts about, the way he carries himself. He thinks he's being so clever. He has all the bearings of a noble man, but nobility is in the soul and the mind, and that man has neither. He's nothing more than a walking façade."

"As you say, milord," said Massena, reserving his thoughts.

"Don't patronize me," Berkut hissed, "Surely my uncle has realized the same thing. Perhaps he's even now evicting that pretending trash from our home. How I'd rejoice to finally have our halls empty of his silly liar's voice…" This last was said with a smile gradually stretching across the prince's face. "Now, will you move aside?"

"I apologize again, but I'm under orders not to allow anyone in until His Excellency has finished his conversation."

"Very well," Berkut said, folding his arms and rolling his eyes before taking a few steps back, "I suppose I can amuse myself by anticipating that meddler's consternation when he leaves…"

The pair continued to wait in the hall for several minutes more as very little sound made its way out of the chamber. Suddenly, they were able to hear voices from within again, but what words they could make out were inconsequential, and footsteps soon after approached the door. Massena turned to open the door and was greeted with Ezekiel's mildly pleased face.

"Thank you, general." Ezekiel nodded as he passed him by. He also took note of the black-haired prince as he began to turn the corner. "Lord Berkut."

Berkut stared at the visitor, but said nothing as he watched him pass down the hall.

Massena began to poke his head into the chamber, looking to his emperor to find the old man readjusting his sitting position and wiping his face near his eyes.

"Your Excellency, your nephew is here. Are you willing to receive—"

The general started as the black-haired boy pushed past him. "He's willing."

"Berkut," Rudolf said, acknowledging him and slowly massaging his forehead, "What is it you need?"

"I've come to make a request of you, uncle. A request of our house more generally, I suppose."

"It's unlike you to lower yourself so much as to ask things of others, nephew. Go on, what is it?"

Berkut hesitated and grit his teeth at his uncle's remark. He shut his eyes and let out a sigh in an effort to calm himself. "I need your blessing, as well as… er, well, I need a small donation from our coffers."

"Do I hear you right?" The emperor leaned forward. "Are you asking for _money_ , Prince Berkut?"

"Please, don't debase me by putting it in such terms, uncle!" the prince pleaded, turning his eyes away, "I swear on my honor that it's nothing so unscrupulous. There's a woman…"

"Hum. But this is a funny coincidence. A stranger I welcomed into my home volunteers his service to me, and yet the child of my own brother comes in demanding money."

Berkut's brow shifted again on hearing this. "A stranger… volunteered his service? You mean Ezekiel?"

"Yes," said the emperor, "he asked to continue serving me as a member of Rigel's army."

"Ah, I see," Berkut replied with a wry smile, "and you banished him to some hellscape far from here, yes? An ingenious plan."

"No. I said I'd make arrangements with one of my generals. I'd like for him to lead a detachment of our troops. It would be good to have someone patrolling the border."

"W-What? You… you're going to give him a proper position?"

"And why not? He's more than earned his keep for this house."

"Earned?! By sitting on your lap and letting you coddle him?! He's nothing but a drain on our house's resources!"

Rudolf shot his nephew a furious glare and the coal-haired boy quickly shut his mouth. "Ezekiel _has_ proved himself worthy of nobility. He's aided nearly every single servant no less than twice, he's gone on countless personal errands for me, braving both summer heat and bitter cold of winter, and he's made a stable job of maintaining the priory where a girl named Tatiana lives. She's a fine woman, equally deserving of a happy life."

"Actually, uncle, that—"

"Perhaps you could even learn something from him, nephew."

"Learn? What could I possibly learn from one such as him?"

"The value of work and effort, the need to earn your nobility."

"Forgive my impertinence, but you speak nonsense, uncle. One does not _earn_ nobility, one either possesses it or not. You and I were born of noble blood, and thus unto us our status is conferred. There is no need to sink ourselves to the level of commoners. What need have we of their esteem? They are refuse, as near to us as the very dirt beneath our feet."

"That attitude is exactly why you will never succeed, Berkut. Not in this house, at any rate."

"What? Never succeed? Tell me, uncle, what more do I need to do in order to honor you and this house? That is my only goal, I swear it!"

"If you really mean that, then perhaps you would consider following in Zeke's footsteps."

"You mean… you want me to fight for you?"

"Strength tempered by bloodshed has always been the rule of Rigel since the Accord was made. Strutting about castles and flaunting one's status is the behavior of the lushes of Zofia. If you wish to be honored as a true heir to the Rigelian throne, you ought to show your dedication through battle."

"If that's what it takes," said Berkut, balling his fist, "then so be it. Order me to any part of the country, uncle. Have me engage any foe, and I swear I'll make them bleed in the name of Rigel."

"That's a bit better," said the emperor with a small smile, "but I think it's important that you be kept humble, so I believe I'll have you start small. Come speak to me again tomorrow morning, and bring your lance. I'll work something out for you."

"Yes, uncle."

Berkut remained in place while the emperor leaned back into his throne again. When Rudolf realized the prince was still present, he asked, "Was there something else?"

"Well, the matter of my request…"

"How you answer the order I will give you tomorrow will determine whether or not you receive your request. Will that be all?"

Berkut's eyes fell to the floor. "Yes, that will be all."

The prince left his uncle's chamber with his head still angled downward. He caught a glimpse of Massena's eyes looking back at him as he left and scoffed. He could feel their mocking, both of them mocking him! And that Zeke, too! How they'd shamed him, making him beg and contort himself in that way! He'd make them live to regret all that they had done to him.

His head slowly lifted as he continued to make his way down the hall, back toward the castle's entranceway. He hated that he needed to bend his head for them. It was only for them. Anyone else who looked in his direction—they were the ones who bent their heads, giving him the respect he was due, but those two, Rudolf and Massena, they were the only ones who would meet his gaze. He didn't mind his uncle as much—he was the emperor, it was to be expected, but the arrogance Massena so routinely displayed aggravated him to no end. He thought briefly that he might like to mend that stone face of his by force. Those thoughts melted away, however, when he saw someone else staring back at him as he neared the castle's doors. "Rinea?" he said in a surprised breath.

"Good day, milord." She curtseyed while smiling at him.

"Why… why are you here?" His voice grew steadily softer. "I thought you'd be away with your mother today."

"I was, but she wasn't feeling well." Her eyes flicked to the side and her brow arched. "I thought I might come to see you instead. A better way to spend my time than remaining at home."

"Well," he said, following a deep breath, "there's no need to go about it standing out here. Let's head to the dining hall. Have you eaten yet?"

"No, but I couldn't possibly—"

"Nonsense. You're in my company now." He led her into the smaller room—smaller only in comparison to the entrance, of course; there was still enough room in the dining hall for at least twenty guests. He took his place at the head of the table and pulled out a chair along the right side, offering it to her. She gladly took it and sat down, and then he followed. He snapped his fingers and called for one of the servants, who appeared immediately and asked them what they would like.

"If milord will forgive me for prying," said Rinea as a bottle of wine was opened by a servant behind her and poured into a glass, "You seem a bit distressed. Is something wrong? Have I come at a bad time?"

"You, of all people, could never come at a bad time," Berkut said in a low voice, "I've had some difficulty dealing with my uncle, that's all."

"I can only imagine. It must be trying to be associated with the emperor of all Rigel. So much responsibility, so many eyes on you…"

He laughed. "The stares of smallfolk have no effect on me. It's my uncle's stubbornness that concerns me. The man has no regard for his own station! Did you know that just today he promoted some foreigner we hardly know to a commanding position in the Rigelian army? Our nation is doomed if we keep extending hands to people with no place among our ranks."

"Perhaps that's so," Rinea said with a sigh, "Lord Berkut… I know my house is only a small one… Do you consider me worthy of entering this hall and dining with you?"

His eyes widened as he looked back at her. His voice became louder, "Of course! Who would dare to say that you don't belong here? You're my invited guest, as shall you always be, if you should desire it."

"But then, I'm sorry to press you, milord, but how do you judge my character worthy as compared to that of anyone else who enters this house not as a member of it?"

Berkut's face tensed, eyes tightening. He stared at her with intense curiosity for a moment, wondering what kind of test this was. "Allow me to put it this way," he said, "there are those graced with the spirit of nobility, and those who are not. The latter should never be allowed within these walls. Though your house may be small, Rinea, your courage and your spirit are great. Do you recall when we had our little dance together? That was when I knew. Meek though you are, your bear yourself like a veritable countess. The way you moved… so unafraid. It's a quality I wish I shared—your confidence in yourself. You've a more impressive character than all the scoundrels and sycophants I see wandering in here, begging for my uncle's aid like damned insects…!"

"I don't know how you can claim such things," she said with a little smile, "but I thank you for the compliments you pay me, Lord Berkut."

"You needn't pay me thanks," he replied, "you've earned those words. And some day, I'll make the world realize it. Wouldn't that be grand…?" He paused for a moment, immersed in his own vision. "But, I'm sorry," said the prince, "I've been prattling about myself so long. You said your mother was too ill to go to market with you today, yes? I'm so sorry about that. I can send one of the castle's physicians to give her whatever medicines we have."

"It's quite all right. I've known my mother's health was declining for some time." Rinea folded her hands into her lap, moving her knees closer together. "There's a terrible grippe going around, you know."

"I'd heard something to that effect," said Berkut, trying to minimize his own presence by keeping his voice low.

"As I said, that's why I came here. Father and both my brothers have gone out looking for greener pastures, as the saying goes, and so it's only been my mother and me for over a year. Now she's taken ill, and I don't know if she'll make it through… The loneliness in that house is too much to bear sometimes."

Berkut felt a push from the icy air around him penetrate his skin. He attended to the feeling as it sunk all the way through his body, down his shoulders, through his stomach, and out along his legs. "Yes," he eventually replied, "loneliness is quite a curse."

"You're fortunate to have such a large family surrounding you, Lord Berkut," the blue-haired lady went on, "I'd give anything to have so many loving faces all around."

"Mind yourself, Rinea," he said, a bit more coldly than any of his previous utterances, "appearances can and do deceive."

That caught her attention. "Whatever do you mean?"

"This may seem a house of love to you, gentle lady that you are, but 'love' is not a word that has ever passed the lips of my uncle, let alone any of his insufferable subordinates."

"No! That can't be. The emperor… well, I suppose he's a bit stuffy, but he has such a gentle expression."

"He's a spiteful old cad. I can't say that before any of these other fools, but I don't think you'd sell me out, Rinea. You have to believe me when I tell you it's the truth. I came into my uncle's court a pensive boy, and I was met with naught but glares of indifference. That uncaring look from my uncle… it has never changed once in my interaction with him."

"Uncaring?" Rinea repeated, "That's very striking. I never knew you felt that way about him."

"It's not just me," said the prince in reply, "The feeling has always been mutual. May I tell you a story, Rinea? It's not a happy one, but it's one I think needs to be told."

"Of course," she said, folding her hands in her lap.

"Once, when I was much younger, I was here with my uncle. I had been sent away from my father's home—he was eager to be rid of me. My father enjoyed a comfortable life in a paid-for estate on a hamlet several miles from the castle. It wasn't until I came here to live with my uncle that I understood the full extent of our lineage. Later, I would come to resent my father for failing to accept all his obligations as the emperor's brother and choosing complacency instead, but that's a tale for another time.

"As I said, I had begun living with my uncle and, eager to do all I could for our house, I did what I could to help my uncle and the servants, when he demanded it so. Never in that time did he praise me or give me any indication if I'd pleased him, he just looked at me as if he'd only then remembered that I was there and gave me a new task. So it went for several years. Then, when I was about fourteen, I started tending to the royal stable. My uncle permitted me to ride some of the horses, saying that if I was to take his throne, it was one of many skills I would need to master. This was the first time I could recall him acknowledging that I was to succeed him, and so I took to it with full fervor. I never had a horse assigned to me, so I rode those of the servants when they weren't away on errands. There was one horse that I dreamt to ride, however—a horse even my uncle had refused to handle—a coal-black stallion named Paragon.

"No one knew who Paragon belonged to. It was as if the horse had materialized out of sheer malice: it reacted negatively and aggressively to everyone. I knew that if I could somehow tame it, I would win my uncle's respect. That's what I believed, anyway. So I went on riding and practicing, all the while concocting a plan to convince the stable-master to let me take Paragon out. Eventually, I managed to get a lesser noble to claim the horse as his own, with forged documents and all, in exchange for greater representation before the emperor. He told the stable-master that I was to deliver the steed, and my plan was set. I approached Paragon that afternoon with my heart swelling."

Berkut's face shifted from and upward gaze to a downward one, reliving the experience anew.

"I wasn't even close to prepared to ride that horse. From the moment I got him out of the stall, he bucked and kicked around, almost snarling. I never knew it was possible for a horse to act so bellicose. Still, I wanted to prove myself to my uncle, so I dug my fingers into the beast as if I were going to strangle my worth out of it, though that only served to make him angrier. He went on thrashing even more fiercely and, in my struggle, I had failed to notice that another of my uncle's servants was near the stables. That mad creature ran him down, trampled him like a filthy rug. The horse bucked and kicked and stomped around on him as his hooves were painted red, then eventually threw me off and fled toward the forest. I fell into the muck. I think I broke two of my ribs in the fight.

"My uncle, of course, learned of the incident, and came down to learn, and he was terribly aggrieved when he found the servant had been killed. Evidently, the old man was someone who had taken care of my uncle in his younger days. It would explain why he was so frail. The emperor was furious with me. He picked me up and chastised me for over an hour. He struck me several times, asking what in the world was wrong with me. He asked why I had been so useless… and then he said something I'll never forget. He said, 'Duma took the wrong son.' He was talking about his own son. Massena told me once that the emperor had sired a boy who passed away in infancy… I think that's why he never cared for me—I was the heir he would never have. So he groaned, and he confirmed my suspicions. I was the foul replacement he never wanted. I should have died so that that boy could live."

Rinea's face was blank. She couldn't quite find the words to offer in reply. "I'm so sorry," she decided, "I never knew any of that."

"I didn't expect you to," Berkut told her, "but that was when I made my decision, about what kind of person I was going to be. I decided I wouldn't take after my uncle after all. Not in the way that mattered, anyway."

"And…" Rinea, immersed in the tale, felt herself compelled to add to it, gripped by the movement of the prince's face: "What became of the horse, Paragon?"

Berkut blinked, long and slow. "I fear the details are unfit to share with a lady such as yourself."

"But I'm too curious, now," she complained, a bit disjointedly with her frightened expression, "You already described that awful business with the servant. Could the horse really be worse?"

Berkut stared hard at some point on the wall slightly to the right of Rinea's head. "I tracked the devil into the woods, still soaked in mud and short of breath from my injury. I found him and beat him. I don't wish to frighten you, my dear, but I did beat him. I was very angry, and he knew that. The scoundrel tried to flee me, and I beat him. I broke his legs to keep him from getting away. The crown that adorns my head…" The prince reached a hand into his hair to run his fingers along the sleek, reflective material, "It wasn't conferred to me by my uncle, in case you ever thought as much. I had it made from that beast's feet, and the horseshoes it wore. I wear the trophy on my head as I wear the memory in my mind."

"Well… I'm surprised by your story, honestly," said Rinea, shifting, "I never knew the emperor was like that."

"Few people do. He's good at putting on airs. He always thinks he's being so smart, pretending to care about the concerns of a few so that the unwashed masses will think him their champion. Eventually, the smallfolk of Rigel will realize his compassion is a ruse, and they'll demand his head. Such is the nature of poverty. Then, they'll have a new rule who'll pretend to care for them until they tire of him, too. So shall the wheel of fate turn in perpetuity, until a man with true courage puts those ungrateful fools in their place…!"

"Will you be that man, then?" Rinea asked, looking up at him.

He closed his eyes and smiled a little. "I can only try. Better I stand ready to do what's necessary than let the fire of our nation be snuffed out by old fools kotowing to meaningless tradition."

"Well, I think you will," Rinea said, giving her own grander smile, "You're the greatest man I know, Lord Berkut."

Berkut stared at her, eyebrows raised. When the shock passed, he finally managed to say "Thank you, Rinea." She nodded to acknowledge him, and they sat in silence for a few seconds more as Berkut absorbed her remarks. Finally, he stood from his chair and walked beside her. He took her hand in his and looked down into her eyes. "Rinea… I want to ask you something very important."

She gawked at him. "Um… yes?"

"Eventually, I will take on the responsibility of stewarding this nation. When that happens, I will need many people at my side to accomplish all that will be asked of me. If I were to call on you to be one of those people… would you accept?"

"I'm not sure I know what you're asking," she answered honestly, "but I've already told you what I think of you, Lord Berkut: if ever there was a nobler, kinder soul, I've never met him. I want to be with you as much and as often as I can. Is that all right?"

"It's more than all right," he said, "It's all I need."

"Oh, Lord Berkut," said the blue-haired woman, fawning at him.

He reached out a black-gloved hand to her, asking her to take it. "And when my time comes, I will stand above more than Rigel… I will go beyond my uncle's purview. The whole world will know of me… and it will know of our love."

Rinea was smiling as she took his hand, quite pleased, "For me, Lord Berkut, that I have your admiration is as good as having that of every man."

"In time, you'll have both," he concluded, "Rinea… you and I are going to get _everything_ we deserve in this world."


End file.
